


striking dream

by GStK



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: F/F, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: feminine desire, never undone by man.
Relationships: Nishikino Maki/Yazawa Nico
Kudos: 11





	striking dream

my first psalm.

man was not there when this love started.

man was not there when i met your eyes across the table and saw your desperation burn.

boys were there, sometimes. i must confess

i did not notice them because you did not look at them either.

man was not there when you sat with your back against the piano and listened to my endless trials.

man was not there when i watched you practise many hours after the others were gone, straining your muscles for awaited success.

man was there when for our one short year. his hands skimmed the hem of your skirt when you clapped hands with the fans in the audience.

don’t think i didn’t see.

man was there when _our_ short year was through. constantly, he followed us, smiling and calling us names we never gave him permission to use.

don’t think i didn’t hear.

man kindled his fire on your umbral career. i saw the lines at your autograph sessions. he was always a touch that lingered too long.

don’t think i didn’t feel.

man is there even now while i take notes in lecture hall. he’s the one who stops me in the corridor, calls me that silly name, laughs when i twirl a strand of hair between my finger. he touches my shoulder and asks what i’ve been up to. i don’t even know his name.

man is there even now when i see you on the tv in the lounge. they introduce him first and then you. you laugh and bury your hands in your lap. it’s not like you’re even doing a duet with him. he’s just there for screentime. what the hell?

he hovers at the corners of my mind like a ghost. hands and lips and eyes, always taking hold. 

but he was not there when this started!

my second psalm.

and if we cut man out like snippets from a news article we don’t want to read,

and we set aside the company of our others, who we love, but not in that way,

we’re left with a scant few moments shared just between us.

the curl of your hair as i felt a pigtail and its thready weight upon my palm.

the whisper of your laugh as i kissed you for the first time in the music room.

the sharpness of your second laugh when i kissed you seven years and a hundred phonecalls later, unable to contain myself.

the vermilion of your skirts as they danced with your body. my parents were scared i would look at boys; they never thought i would be entranced by the sway of a woman’s waist.

the velvety rain that touched the rooftop during the in-between and how you gathered it in your hands and supped. i wanted to be that rain. no; i wanted you to be the rain, and i wanted to be your hands.

the gasp of delight that rolled off your tongue, honest-sincerity expelled into the christmas air when you saw the illuminations. i clasped my hands so i wouldn’t take yours. pointless, because you stole five of my fingers for yourself. always such a genuine liar.

rarely together and never apart. how did i fall for you with such little time together?

i wonder if i had spent too long by your side, i would have come to hate you. i don’t think that now. but i feared it then. feared you would open my chest and laugh at all my secrets.

you were better than who i made you. i was worse than the person you expected to sweep you off your feet.

but one time i took you galloping on beautiful white geldings. 

that’s close enough to a knight.

my third psalm.

you were every leaf i noticed flutter in the window.

do you think of man when i push my fingers inside of you?

you were never the woman i saw in the advertisements, brushed up and made fuller than you truly were.

do you think of man when i’m kissing your breast, one to the other, always so smug, you say, though i just want to hear you flutter-quail my name.

you were sometimes the liveliest girl in the room and others the smallest. you chose what you were every day. i envied that.

do you think of man when i approach climax with you, body-to-body, rutting into the circle of your hips around my waist?

you were usually the voice i heard fourth of ninth. not the first and not the last.

do you think of man when we are laying together and i kiss your lips and you uncoil your braid one plait at a time?

and you were always the one i looked to, even after it ended, even before it began.

i do not permit man to enter our bedroom. i do not permit him to place his hands upon our lives.

some realities aren’t possible. you laugh when i tell you this desire. _maki_ , you say, _they’re never going to go away_. and you just accept that, don’t you?

but they will not come here, i tell you. not in this moment. not today.

fourth psalm.

if i can’t cut out your heart and place it to my breast to keep,

then i suppose i’ll have to make do with a ring, won’t i?


End file.
